If your car was broke how would you try to fix it?

I wrote this post two years ago. As my son was going through Graded Exercise Therapy and Cognitive behavioural Therapy. Angus was deteriorating and was left bedbound. Having never being listened to I got quite cross with the medical profession, but that was no help to anyone. Two Years on we have learnt a lot, it is a shame NICE and the medical profession, NHS chose not to!

Yesterday I was taken by my family to the seaside; you cannot begin to imagine how this felt. I do not have the words to express the 101 emotions and joy. My twelve year old boy wanted me to hear the sea; I love the sound of the sea in summer. He wanted me to trust him. He wanted me to listen to him.

I took my own advice and I did listen to him, I did and do trust him. We ate fish and chips, we had ice-cream and we played on the amusements.

He took his own Heart Rate and Blood pressure readings, and I did not say a word. I have an amazing young man who is my hero, who is unique, my prize possession along with his sister who took me out for a Sunday jaunt to Felixstow.

How things could have been different/should have been different if they had only listened back then at the beginning. They seem to think that if the wheels move then don't look under the bonnet but: 

If your car was broke how would you try to fix it?

Say you had this car, I'm not talking about any car but a unique, your prize possession of a car. You had this car from new and lovingly looked after it.

It is a glorious and beautiful sunny day, a good day to go to the beach. You know the sort of day I mean; the one you have been waiting for after a long hard winter. There is a crisp joyful tingle to the air, the blackbirds are singing. The sky for the first time, has that watery blue that makes you want to bath in the light of the warming sun. You really need to get out of the house and the idea of fish and chips along the sea front, with an ice-cream as you watch the sun slowly sink in the sky. Those sort of days that warm the cockles of your heart and soul. The days that make life worth while.

You go to the little car that is your pride and joy and marvel at the paintwork gleaming in the morning sun. You check everything is as it should be and you turn the key. The little engine splutters into life and although your a little puzzled to the haphazard running of the engine, you can't wait to get started, so brush it off as one of those things. Gently you start your journey but the buzz of the engine makes you just want to go with the flow, and as the engine fires into action and everything looks and sounds OK, you put your foot down and the little cars revs with joy.

The top is down the wind is blowing the cobwebs away and the simple pleasure of the beach starts to sing to you as the salty air fills you with memories and dreams. You hear the little engine misfire, and you start to loose speed. You are still moving, so not to worry, we will get there, we are in no hurry. You pat your pride and joy with reassurance and confidence, that when you get home you will be able to sort the problem out.

On the way back home, after just managing to get the fish and chips, you say not to worry we will come back when we have sorted the issue out and have an ice-cream next time. Your little car slows to a stop and you call the breakdown services out.

But they have no idea what the problem is and as you both stand there and scratch and look for problems it starts to rain. The emergency services advise you to fill the tank up with fuel and try again. many times you try to get the little car to the garage until finally you decide to go and get the fuel and fill the little car up where it stands at home.

While you check everything you know to clear the unseen problem out you dream and plan. Glorious days at the seaside getting that ice-cream you never had. going to summer shows, visiting friends and being with family. The little car keeps trying but even if you get to where you had planed to be the little car can barely make it home afterwards. For days and days you try to get the engine fired up again but it just wont turn over.

On the days you have it booked in to the mechanics for an overhaul, it runs - perhaps not perfect and not as it should be, but the engine ticks over. They say to you, just take it out for a good run, and it will be fine, it will clear out of all the gloopy stuff and will be better after that.

Each time you do this your pride and joy's engine keeps misfiring, and the paintwork somehow dulls no matter how hard you try to polish it. Other days it fires into action and you have a hard time catching up with it and fill your heart with hope, but this never seems to last very long. You sit with the little car, dreaming of past outings, the fun with family and friends you could be having. You plan.

My question is what would you do?

Try to keep starting the engine?

Run it flat out to try and clear the problem?

Trust the mechanics with their spanners and wrenches?

Try to look closely at the fuel?

Check the battery?

Look at the alternator?

Everything is just very slightly damaged in Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (ME)

In Dr Myhills Second Edition of Diagnosis and Treatment of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Myalgic Encephalitis it's mitochondria, not hypochondria 2017 she has the same sort of analogy

Think of the body as a car:

Engine = mitochondria
Fuel = diet and gut function
Oxygen = lungs
Fuel and oxygen delivery = heat and circulation
Accelerator pedal = thyroid glan
Gear box = adrenal glands
Service and repair = sleep
Toolkit  = methylation cycle
Cleaning - oil = antioxidants
Catalytic converter = detoxification
A driver = the brain in a fit state

Every thing on this list has been effected by ME

Needles in a Haystack

They are looking for tinny needles in a ravaged haystack! Jostling for funding making claim and counter claims, while people struggle to gain some sort of life. I thought to myself as I plunged the toilet brush down and around the u-bend, giving the toilet another good dowsing of cleaner.

This is defiantly going to be a defining Tilly Moment, I smile to myself. I took a few moments to watch the vortex suck the cleaner away. It’s like needles in a haystack on a farmyard of disgruntled animals, I considered with the loo brush suspended in thought. There are a lot of fluffy ducks; I chuckled as I attacked the floor with gusto, a Cockrill, a grumpy donkey that is flogged for being slow. A picture of an idyllic scene popped in my head as the idea gained momentum. Where there are animals, there is normally a lot of… well stinky manure to clean; that’s the story of my life I shruged as I turn on the shower with my determined furrowed brow. I pull up my rubber gloves.

This analogy sums up our knowledge of ME/CFS, Fibromyalgia, MS, coeliac and Alzheimer’s, I continued thinking as I rammed the double duvet in washing in the machine. The salesman had said it would take a king size duvet, but it don’t, frustration started to set in, coupled with my anger, I decided the best cause of action was to sit and write.

If you take the haystack as the central nervous system with the many complex issues hidden inside, that haystack contained within a farmyard (the body of the patient) with many animals (cells, organs, glands and limbs) around it, that are being damaged by ME/CFS (the needles). Even though it has been proven beyond any doubt the needles are there, not everyone accepts this – they cannot see/find the needles, so dismiss the damage being done, choosing to impart the blame to all sorts of behavioural disorders. I purpose it’s not their fault? They don’t appear to possess the intelligence to understand we still do not know all there is to know about the human body. I sip the hot coffee and think. Perhaps they are like the pre-Socratic philosophers who; bless them, believed that the world was flat. Philosophers are full of barmy ideas, but you cannot reason with them, they are all knowing.
Unfortunately the people that have proven the needles exist don’t know what the needles are made from, or how to find them. This means they cannot find the right magnet to locate or get rid of the needles before long-term damage is done.

The poor farmer (the brain or in our case Angus) has been running around shouting about the danger, but no one has been listening. His animals are being hurt (animals being the organs, glands and limbs) are in pain as the needles surge through his/their body. I hold the steamer in mid-air as I once again try to get rid of the toffee on the cooker. I think the Philosophers are barmy, I giggle as I start to write my outline of a story. Here I am thinking in terms of sheep and pigs as though it would make ME more understandable, well it makes it more fun, so I make a coffee and give the story my full attention.

The farmer, I thought needs all of his animals to be fit and healthy, as they make up the ecosystem which makes the farmer’s beautiful and diverse farm. But the longer this situation carries on the more dishevelled his haystack becomes, no matter how hard he tries to rebuild his haystack, another wind comes and blows it down. The animals then are left to forage around picking up bits of hay, and are then in danger of finding the tinny needles and consume them or roll around in them. No graphic illustration needed of what could happen to the animals.

Now the Mother of the farmer has being witnessing his plight, and has watched over a long period, helping as much as she can. She understands that the best thing for the farmer and his animals, is that a huge magnet, but knows the right one has yet to be found or made. Maintenance is the only option open to her for now.
She constantly runs around all the people she can think of to find out how and when the winds will come and bring yet more needles. Some dismiss her and don’t understand about the needles and the winds, which she is surprised about. The concept of winds carrying needles are not new – coughs and sneezes spread diseases.

The wind however is like a swirl of nature that hits at unreasonable times and by the time the disbelieving people come and see the farm; her farmer son has cleared up and hidden the damage. He is a very proud and hardworking farmer, which loves his ecosystem and wants it to work properly. He wants everyone to see the beauty of his farm and not the chaos. His ecosystem runs around plugging gaps as best they can, but they are fighting a loosing battle.

For now the farmers mother has put a huge cover over the haystack, she knows it’s not strong enough if the winds come down again, she knows the animals will nest, pull at and rummage through the haystack, but it is the best she can do for now. The ecosystem shows its determination, but how long can this now flimsy covering contain those sharp implements of destruction? She also knows the cover keeps the haystack dry and brittle and at any moment could burn out! Then how would they be able to sustain the farm animals? She has taken the farmer inside the farmhouse for a rest. But the farmer is all forlorn without his farm and the friends that help him to maintain it all. His mind wont rest, he needs to get on.

People come and go with their new brooms and sweep, taking all the good hay away with them. She shoos them away, but they come back with bigger brooms. She is a strong and determined Mother but that does not bode well to the people who still believe the world is flat and that, positive thought techniques is the only thing that could possibly drive a body to wellness.
At last it’s time to put the animals away for the night and the farmer and his mother start to run around the farm trying to catch chickens, the three Billy goats gruff, geese, fluffy and the not so fluffy ducks, find and catch the errant pig, convince the stubborn donkey it’s time to go in its stable and cuddle daisy the cow. They fall in a heap and laugh about their topsy turvy days. They dream separately for a while of the farm they know they could have.

When  the farmyard falls quiet and the farmer is asleep at last, the farmers mother goes out to the haystack and has a closer look, ties down, as best she can the flimsy covering. Sweeps the debris and pushes it under, hoping it will be contained and out of harm’s way. She walks slowly to the hill near the duck pond; her favourite spot. Her faithful dogs by her side, she starts to wonder at the magic the farm holds, as the sun sinks on another exhausting day, where the animals have ran rampant through the haystack.

She reflects on when they found a beautiful butterfly struggling to fly in the wind. How they both giggled with joy when they caught it, and put it in the huge greenhouse full of plants so that it could be free to fly without the winds hindrance. How it danced and bobbed around on the warm breeze of the ventilation fans. She hopes they will be able to see it tomorrow. But you can never tell with butterflies, fleeting beauties as they are. Perhaps she can draw one. She looks across the sky to see the stars and the silvery moon, there are a lot of things to marvel at and a lot of people that will never take the time to see what happens to be in-front of them. She hoped that she was not one of those people.

We had once been told that the world was flat and if we set sail we would drop off the end, and look how that ended, she smiled to herself. What if we just took the word of those people who said our world was flat? She remembered she had been told that infants didn’t feel pain when they teethed, and that nappy rash was most defiantly not caused by the infant teething, when it was so clearly the cause, she started to giggle. Scientists said it was impossible that Bees could fly, due to the aerodynamics of their shape, but they do. ‘I love honey’, the farmer’s mother laughed to herself. ‘Sometimes’ she whispered out loud, ‘we see and we don’t look, we hear but we don’t listen, we think we know, but simply, we don’t understand.’

Most people choose not to listen to her, for she is just the farmer’s mother, and no one will listen to her farmer son, as he is considered too young to know what the world is about. Worst of all, some think he would rather have a dishevelled farm with no ecosystem. How little some intelligent people want to understand, or open their mind to. But as always there is money to be made in muck. She sighed and her shoulders sagged.

She had read that Katerina Netolicka, a Prada Model, died from working out too much, she was only 26. Rowing as hard as he could didn’t do Andrew Marr any good either, and that Henry Worsley died after developing a serious gut infection, when he had pushed his body to the point of no return, he was only 55. He thought he just needed to rest and recoup. Why is it that we think we can push our bodies so hard with no detrimental effects? She mutters as she looks across at the purple huge that covers the slumbering farm, they don’t see the chaos because they don’t look for it, they can just deny it happens, because we all cover it up.

She looked out over the flat land with its shades of purple darkness and up to the moon, now plump and round in the sky, if only they lifted their chins and really looked at that the silvery moon, they would understand that this world is round, full and slightly surreal, and that’s ok! If only they could offer a blanket to keep her warm, so that she may enjoy the moon and not fight the cold of despair, it would be a help.


Change what you can, and learn to live with what is left, she softly said to herself.

Prof Julia Newman has found some very interesting needles

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0UFTngBp7ek

And here with Simon Ellis they give a good understanding to the full round picture emerging of the complexities of ME.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=auFEYiDrJts

They need all our support and encouragement! One day I feel sure, they will come up with an answer for us. A day where we can go to a doctor and feel confident they will understand, and do no more harm to us!

The Joy of Her

A while ago a very dear friend wanted some help writing down a story that contained her thoughts. She had cared for her mum through her illnes and as often happens when someone you love and depend on leaves you - so many emotions curl you up into a tight ball of sorrow, called grief.

Like the roses here (taken from Pearl's garden) as the tight buds opened up the beauty wrapped within the flowers uncurled, you could see the love blosom.

The Joy of Her

I see the joy of my mum in roses, her gentle ways, the way she wrapped us up in petals of love but I don’t think she knew how to nurture us as she nurtured her garden. I think that was our gift to her.
 
She was brought up in a time when no encouragement was deemed necessary I suppose, but it would have been nice to have heard the words ‘you did good!’ I sort of took it personally until I decided to plant the rose bush in celebration of her joy. I got to thinking; which is probably my problem of over analysing life, it’s the times we live in I think. We have to be accountable for each action we give a child these days, not the same for mum. She just wanted a family, it was enough and I guess we didn’t have to achieve to make her happy and being proud just wasn’t her thing, giving love was more my mum’s style.

As I dig the hole to bury the strong roots of the rose bush I have chosen and as I look at them I see my foundation from which my family has grown. Each branch strong and sturdy with shoots of beauty ready to flourish if I tend to them. It was then I understood why she loved gardening and arranging flowers so much. Lovingly you put everything you have into it, and at a distance – you admire. With us it was the same she watered and fed us, our every needs were met, and not until now – as my hands feel the earth have I given it a thought. She nurtured her grandchildren because she could not love them as she had us. She had to stand back and enjoy her love blooming through us to our kids. God I hope I can learn that lesson – how to back off and let my boys grow, enabling them to find their own roots so they too can bloom.

She had an acceptance in life that many of us take a lifetime to try to achieve, scholars spend decades trying to reach the Zen like state she found so easy. I’m not sure how deep the resentment of that quality goes actually. She had a profound inability to tell us off as children, I saw it as a weakness that always ended in laughter. Through her illness – that took her away from us bit by bit, she refused to try to understand it. That simplistic acceptance made me so angry at times. I now see it as a strength I envy.

Cooking, being with her family, holidays to Portugal, playing cards was her enjoyment but it was the looks and words she gave her grandchildren that was her joy. It’s what I miss the most and as I stand back and look on at all the rose bushes that glisten in the summers rain, for the first time I can see my glory. So why am I so angry? I have so often thought about this while in my garden tending my flowers and I think it was because I never told her or allowed myself to see it…. that I have finally seen and understood what she saw so clearly…. my beauty.

To Pearl and her family

X

I hope you  agree she did 'do good' and I'm very proud of her. Lots of love

Walking along to the linnet’s song feeling the pulse of nature beneath her feet, Clair’s smile was as warm as the sun. This is what she had worked so hard to have. She had made a dash for some tranquillity in her life and had found it here in a small village in Suffolk.

She had reached the old oak tree her three dogs already knew the drill, and were wandering off sniffing the ground for hares, rabbits and deer. She was eclectic by nature and it showed in her assortment of dogs. Bear, her chocolate mastiff, Peaches, a Chihuahua and Fox Terrier cross and Scruff an apricot assortment that looked like a Jack Russell on stilts ­­– all from broken homes.

The mornings haze, slowly evaporating by the sun made a shimmering glow over the landscape. She had soon reached her destination, pulled Bears holdalls off his back and carefully emptied some of its contents, arranging them on the bank of the natural pond. In the distance, four deer stood, acknowledged their presence and nonchalantly walked away.

Clair knew most walkers had been and gone so she could paint in solitude. For her painting at this time had become her compulsion and her passion. It was making her quite antisocial – if she didn’t start talking to someone soon she would forget how too! She reflected on this point as she drew in the bulrushes and mixed her paint.

Her dogs with their noses to the ground in contentment, gave her comfort. She captured the beams of light, and picked out the differing lush greens of the leaves and grasses, all mixed in with the deep brown yellow of the growing corn. This background made the deep velvet of the bulrushes shine with lustier. Something was odd; too many dogs, a black Lab had joined her pack. He had calmly and without bother just taken up his place. Where there was a dog, meant there was an owner. Clair’s panic rose.

Her paintings were immensely private to her. She started to hyperventilate as she went into the now familiar uncontrollable, fever pitch of anxiety. A soothing calm voice apologised for disturbing her. The blood that had flowed to her ears muffled the words as she franticly looked round, but the sun glared her vision, so that only an outline of the man could be seen.

‘Gosh you’ve captured Rip!’ She looked down at her work and there in the foreground, was the character of him, captured by his demeanour, which burst out through his velvet eyes and glistened with innate intensity. She was stunned that she had been so absorbed – she had painted a dog she had never seen before. Rip must have been there for sometime, watching her through the long reeds. She stood back and agreed – she had done a mighty fine job!

The man slowly came and sat by her on the bank, slipping off his rucksack. In London, she had been hidden by the constant flow of the masses, she found in the country she became more prominent and felt exposed. It had over whelmed her and gave her panic attacks. For the first time she felt her breathing became more controlled, less frantic on its own.

“Sorry for startling you, I didn’t mean to pry but I would like to know if you would consider selling me your painting?”

“Oh!’ Clair fumbled not knowing what to say. She actually believed he meant it.

“I like the way you’ve shown his humour.” Clair smiled – she had somehow painted a mellow chuckle in the dog’s eyes. “Are you from around here or just visiting?” He asked.

“I’ve just moved into the little cottage, on the bad bend – back there.” She pointed in the vague direction.

“Oh I heard there was a young townie just moved in there.” He chuckled, a mellow and congenial chuckle to match his dog’s expression. She could also tell he had sized her up, understood her straight away. He accepted her for her, now that was refreshing.

“I’ve a couple of rolls” would you like to join me?”

“Love too, would you like a slice of quiche?” He started to laugh as she brought out the full picnic she had prepared – including half a bottle of champagne. She started to laugh with him. Bear’s bags where like the magicians hat, a feast fit for a table slowly emerged. Normally she would never have shown anyone, afraid of the ridicule. She liked picnics to be special, just for the sense of occasion. People thought her silly, over the top but to-day she turned fifty, and well there was something different in the way she felt, to-day she didn’t care quite so much what people thought, helped by John’s enjoyment of her little foible.

The Linnets took to the sky, Bear lay down and Peaches curled up for their lunchtime snooze, while the other two dogs went looking for anything that moved. The Linnets song hit the serenity note as two new friends talked about life in general and the village history in particular. There they sat amongst the grass, Clair with her tall elegant champagne flute, and John with his thermos flask cup.

As she loaded Bear’s bags up, John with natural ease called the dogs, and they all walked along the side of the fields to the road. It was no surprise to her that he was a dog trainer, his ability to command respect through his soft encouraging energy, was inspirational.

She got a girlish sense of fun at his face as he saw Peaches climb up into Bear’s backpack. Peaches face poked out periodically with a comical twisting to-and-fro to see what was happening and then she would pop back inside. Peaches now twelve deserved a rest. John was impressed with her agility and energy and instead of making a fuss or poking fun – he took a picture and set it as a screen saver.

“Most people would not believe a fighting dog would ever behave that gentlemanly way. I have to go to the local school and give a talk about dogs, the children would love to see Peaches and Bear” Clair visibly shied away, her pulse racing. John held her elbow while she breathed through it. “I would have to lead them, if you don’t mind, for insurance purposes – you know how it is these days.” He let go as soon as her breathing was normal and held her gaze until he was sure she was calm again.

Each time the insurmountable happened, she had coped and enjoyed the elation of overcoming, the awkward reaction to meeting new people ­– thanks to John’s warm and perceptive personality.

When they had gone a little further, he asked her if she would consider taking on a commission for him. One of his closest friends birthday was coming up and he wanted something special for him. Could she paint a dog from a picture? She said she would give it a go. He nodded and looked at her sideways and his expression made her believe that she was good enough for the task and his faith in her made her anxiety abate.

As they walked along the little birds hovered and soared, singing all the while. As Clair looked up she felt her new roots beginning to be set down here, amongst this year’s ripening harvest and the Linnets unwavering song.

Parallel Universe Part 6

Tomorrow will be the last part of Parallel Universe. Let me know if you enjoyed it  x

How on earth am I going to figure this one out? And why did he want to be part of our lives and why now? Why did he track me down and come and live a stones throw from my door? I have never been one for conspiracy theories but it was beginning to feel like one.

‘Should we ask the children what they think would be best? Ian suggested what I would’ve done in any situation like this. I couldn’t ask the questions buzzing around my head, I was too desperate for the right answers and I wasn’t sure I would get the ones I wanted. I could feel the pain of my heart breaking already.

‘Yes, I guess we should ask Sophie and try to explain to Henry. They could stay with my friends until I’ve decided what’s best.’ I was thinking out loud but the shift in the atmosphere caused a tension that vibrated through Ian. I prickled with irritation over not being brave enough. But the situation was diverted when I got a call from Sophie and Zara was bringing the children over on Sophie’s instructions.

I dressed with the help of Ian which was compromising and eventful. As he had packed my bag my, his intentions was leapt out of it. None of the comfy clothes were there. He defended his reasoning with that they were easier for me with a plastered leg. He examined each delicate item until he got a smile or a laugh from me. I would have preferred to slide down the stairs on my bottom but having a very nice dress on made that impossible and he conceded that perhaps it was a little intractable but enjoyable.

We were sitting in his large bright modern kitchen that still held the historical charm of the building when Henry came rushing in to find us. Excited and bemused by everything he saw which brought warmth to Ian’s face, it brought chills of anticipation all over me. Which object would he get a fascination with and break? As Sophie followed by Zara came in he asked the question…..

‘Daddy Ian what’s a bummer and can I see Harley?’

I choked on my coffee, Sophie uttered

‘Oh my god! You just can’t say anything around him.’ And Zara’s eyes nearly popped out with laughing.

I could have rushed to Ian’s rescue and explained about young children’s minds but it was too precious of a moment to spoil with common sense. I just looked straight into Ian’s eyes with the joy of the humour and let him find his own way out of this one.

He decided to skim over the “daddy Ian” bit and got to the ‘Bummer’ and to my surprise he knew what the little chap meant.

‘A Hummer is a big American car.’

‘Can I ride in it?’

‘If your mum says that’s ok.’ I nod my head at the two boys with exciting toys eyes.

‘A Harley is a motor bike’ Henry was beside himself with pleads that would not abate so Ian held his hand and took him off to show him his toys, explaining that they were loud, leaving Sophie, Zara and me to have a catch up.

‘Why is Henry calling Ian, Daddy Ian?’ Sophie looked down mortified

‘I was talking about my dad.’

It was the first time she had had a dad she could call her own and I just couldn’t rip that away from her but how could I stop Henry from getting the illusion of having a father figure back in his life. I could see the glassy tears start to form and my heart cracked a deep crack that only your child can give you.

‘I think Ian understands.’

‘That’s not the point Zara, I’m forced into a situation I didn’t want and I’m not sure I can cope with.’

She came around to me and they both put their arms around me and the tears fell from us all. We pulled away at the same time Sophie started to explain her and Auntie Zara’s cunning plan.

Zara was an interior designer and property developer with Ian. They had a few three and four bedroom houses for rent around Bury St Edmunds.

‘Zara said we could take one that had just come up for rent, fully furnished over Christmas rent free so we didn’t have to stay with Ian.’

Sometimes I thought I would burst with pride.

‘Sophie you can call him dad, we will just have to get to some understanding with Henry later ok?’ She nodded and I saw the tears well up again. I held her hand.

‘You would be doing me a favour as houses empty around Christamas can be a liability. Another good thing Mum doesn’t know about this one either so you will be safe…. for a while.

Can Henry call me auntie?’ I smiled and loosened the grip of control just a little more they obviously could sort things out well enough without me. Now how scary is that!

‘Of course he can.’

Rafe walked in and put his arm around Zara hugged her and came over and kissed me on the top of the head. Love oozed from them as I coloured a little after what I had said to Ian about him and as we discussed moving into the house I tried to get my mind around the ever shifting relationships. 

Parallel Universe Part 3

We all visibly sighed, for different reasons.

‘She is quite a young lady’ Francesca turned bemused and looked at me. I took it as a compliment but too exhausted to really comment. Zara squeezed my hand, her eyes were electrifying and she made me smile a deep and proud smile that buzzed.

‘I’ll take mother’ as though her mother was a misbehaving child. ‘And ring you in the morning’ looking at Ian. ‘Do what your daughter tells you.’ She scolded Ian. ‘That sounds so good, doesn’t it? I’m an aunty!......Now look after Jane.’

‘I think I will have a coffee, one of those nice coffees please Ian, I just want a word with Jane before I go’.

Zara had come back in with their coats. Ian stood smiling at his sister and his mother, one of those smiles Henry uses when he finds me and Sophie funny. I could feel myself swoon a little with the fatigue a sharp look from Ian to me that was swiftly conveyed to his sister, who gently manhandled her mother out of the house with efficient ease. Ian bringing up the rear so that Francesca could not double back and escape her departure.

So here I was in that other place that I so could have occupied. With a broken ankle late at night with no change of clothes, not even a toothbrush, desperate to get home and in my own bed. I started to text David about the dog and one came straight back at me that I knew was from Sophie. David would never use ‘OMG’ and he wasn’t that fast at returning texts.

‘Would you like me to carry you up stairs?’

‘No’ Was my short and startled reply. It was an amusing idea though.

‘Do you think you could make it up the stairs with help?’

‘I want to go home.’ There was a longing in my voice. At this ungodly hour, on a cold and bitter night it was a silly idea, totally impractical. Ian picked up on the vulnerable need and we made it to the door without too much effort or problem but when he drove his vehicle to the front of the house, my will to go home fell like an icy cold waterfall. How the hell was I going to climb, with a plaster on my leg and in an increasing amount of pain into, a chrome fitted black Hummer?

‘You have to be kidding.’ His eyes were full fun! How could he do this to me after the day I have just had. Fun was not what I could cope with and as the tears started to form into dew drops he held out his arm and somehow I trusted him! Him, of all people in the world as soon as he pulled my arm and swung my body expertly as a fireman, he carried me to the Hummer like a sack of potatoes. Had I decided to wear trousers that day? No, Short skirt and red knickers! They cut my thick denier tights off.

I felt like those sack of potatoes being loaded onto a lorry. He was not short but neither was he very tall so as I slipped missing the seat by a few inches, he grabbed my arse to hoist me into the seat. With an innate reaction, I slapped him around the face. Fuelling my indignation and in his good humour he took the slap with a low rumbling chuckle. Loading me in was one thing getting me out was going to be another and then there was the fact he would know where I lived. Swimming thoughts, sickening feelings and the worst thing of all is that we only lived ten minuets away from one another. How had that happened, I would like to know!

His house was in the centre of historic Bury St Edmunds, a short walk to the shops but quiet enough to be enjoyable. Mine was a two up two down clipper house as our finances had tumbled through Bill’s illness; we had to move just before he died. I wasn’t ashamed of my circumstances but I didn’t want pity. But as we drove up to my home, his face held it anyhow.

‘Jane I can appreciate you would like to sleep in your own bed and you need a few things but…’ I knew before he uttered the words. ‘Don’t you think it would be best if I grabbed a few things and took you back to mine?’ I don’t think your leg would take me swinging you up your stairs.’

I closed my eyes determined not to let my dew drops fall, they abated after sensible thought. I handed him my keys. Looking reassuringly into my eyes and he squeezed my hand. He went in my little universe. I visualised him ransacking the pictures dotted around depicting my life with Bill and the kids, opening my intimate draws, finding private things about who I have become. His eyes would scan every detail with his photographers and philosophers thoughts rummaging through and finding out about me. I had started to shake, for the first time real sadness bubbled within me, why was life so cruel.

I had just started to find my feet, now there was the ironic joke but I had started to stand alone again. Bill’s illness and his eventual death was new, I still woke forgetting he was gone and when I started to think of all his needs my body would sink and then I would remember that he had slipped from me, I would, with relief take a painful breath. But me and the children were forging a life together and to have had that without other complications, just for a few years would have been good.

He emerged with Holly my sweet little shaggy dog. Who was sick every time we went out in a car! I thought of my book and the wine again and my collision with that other universe. He went back inside and emerged with a holdall Sophie used for sleepovers. Its pink and purple flowers were not out of place in his hands and I wish the years of pain that man had caused me would flood my indignation, as they did in my mind when I had visualised our meeting again. I felt nothing though just so very, very empty.

He was back in the car and we were off and my thoughts turned to how I could possible get out of the car by myself. People had gathered around the streets as Christmas parties had come to their climatic end. Great! With my short skirt, red knickers and bulbous painful leg, and on the other foot was high heel shoe entertainment for the crowds no doubt. To add to the torment a friend of Ian’s came over to find out the story behind the new lady. Slightly drunk he slapped him on the back ‘you found her then.’ He looked down to my leg and slightly puzzled, hazily processed the fact I had a cast on my leg ‘What happened to you?’ slapping Ian on the back again. Before Ian could explain, I without thinking remarked with a hoity shrug

‘I tried to run away but fell for him and broke my leg’ He immediately sobered and laughed. I liked his laugh, it warmed me.

‘No wonder he has been looking for you, I like you.’

‘I like you too.’

‘Do you think you like me better sober or drunk?’

‘Sober!’

‘Bugger, better sober up and I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He turned to Ian ‘You going to keep her?’

‘Rafe, would you help us out?’

‘With pleasure.’ His smile flipped my butterflies, enchanting my senses with his genuine pleasure at seeing me. Like a pair of crutches they helped me up the stairs with Honey in hot pursuit. Innuendos flew around as I was guided to Ian’s flamboyant bedroom and they sat me down on a Chaise Longue. Ian went to fetch the bags and Rafe kept staring at me in a very pleasing way. His short thick blond hair, stubbled chin and sparkling blue eyes played with my face lingering on my mouth and eyes. In his mid forties and slightly drunk, inhibitions were set free and instead of bravado there seemed an earnestness about him that I liked so when he came and sat next to me I started to gravitate towards him.  

Ian walked in with a face like thunder when he looked over to us both, but Rafe just smiled over to him and put his arm around me and tugged me close.

Rage is spontaneous and rather uplifting I thought.

Slamiming in the Ham 2011

Finally the needles have been pulled out of my eyes and the cotton wool that clogged up my brain has now been replaced with their usual fluffy clouds. I did indeed miss all the fun but I was there for the cooking of the turkey; that by all accounts tasted lovely.

This slower pace of life suits me just fine though as I feel less guilty about doing nothing in particular. The only regret truly I haveis that I haven’t been able to write, I miss writing :-( So here I sit with my boys doing their best cleaning the lounge impression while fighting, my daughter is picking what to

weare and I’m enjoying writing to you all, a perfect start to the day.

I have prepared all I can for when our guests arrive in a couple of hours when the ceremony of SLAMING IN THE HAM! will take place, I love the Christmas meals. After the turkey and all the trimmings comes the bubble and squeak on boxing day; for those of you who are not familiar with this meal, you take the cold mash from the day before (if your husband has not tried to dish them all out, Kev is very partial to mash) with the brussels and sweet chestnuts that take on a whole new taste when browned to that lovely golden crunchy brown add a fried egg making it a perfect and easy meal. I make the basis of a soup too from the turkey at the same time boil the ham leaving the next day relativly free. When I do 'slam in the ham' I only have to baste the joint in what ever recipe I fancy adapting it to my liking (for any one that is remotly interested this year it consisted of brown sugar, mutard, mango chutney and honey) adding a baked potato, salad a few friends and frolics and you have the one of Tilly Days of Christmas x

What are you up too and what is the best meal for you over this festive time

Tammy's Quest for Romance Part 8

Have managed to get this done for all my friends who have been asking me to write the next part. Thank you for your support and I hope you enjoy it x  

Please everyone let me know if you do by clicking one of the boxes at the bottom. I will post the last part tomorrow or if I get lots of clicks I might post it later tonight x 

Have fun Tilly x

She knew before she got to the bedroom what had happened but seeing her boy’s arms and legs sprawling, curling and contorting like a bed full of snakes, had her in stitches. What was a busted bed? Some times things have to be broken before they can be fixed in a new position for life to continue.

            It had taken a long time for Josh to get his mojo back with the confidence that had been his shinning light. Her pride and love pricked the back of her eyes. Mojo was the word he would use a lot through his treatment. On his worst days he would say

            ‘I have no mojo mum and it’s never gonna come back.’ Well look at him now! She walked over to the wardrobe in a deathly hush; she knew they were waiting for her shouts and belligerent despair but she calmly took out her clothes and everything she needed and turned, tossing her head in a nonchalant fashion and walked out. The bed could be replaced, happiness couldn’t.

            The bed was only a year or so old due to Josh being violently sick all over it and no matter how hard she tried she could not get rid of the smell. Mike said they could live with it and it would go. They had a massive row about replacing that old bed. She found it hard to remember why. She was glad it was broken, now all they will remember would be, they broke a bed while wrestling and smiles instead of arguments and despaired worry would be a memory. Now it would be one of those family stories that make a bond around a family. 

            She heard their hushed silence with their low voices ‘Oh lord what are we going to do about this then.’ Normally she would have gone in, blew up and sorted the situation out, taking control but now she let them get on with it, trusting they would do their best. Well Mike will be ordering the next one as he constantly moaned about that one. Time would tell if he fared better than she at that mission.

            She had decided to ware her new grey knit dress and had brought a colourful under skirt with silky golden colours against a background of cream, very attractive through the laced detail at the bottom of the dress. Cleverly she had matched a scarf to the underskirt tying the whole ensemble together. Looking in the full length mirror she had to admit it looked stunning, admittedly with the help of the hold it all in, push it all up body controller that was fast becoming her best friend.

            Mike would be beside himself. But she had resolved until romance and seduction came into her life again, sex would be a rarity. Laughing she made busy in the tiding the kitchen, thinking how she could never resist Mike and if only he took notice he would use that fact against her, melting her into a smouldering mass. A thought just a seed of an understanding came to her, maybe if she didn’t have such preconceived ideas and was a little more patient he would learn the art of seduction and her quest for romance in real life would be realised. ‘Nar life was not like that’

            As they came down stairs and sheepishly into the kitchen the door flung open and Petra came through. James strode over to her and planted a miss you kiss on her lips. So they were an item, Tammy nodded to herself.

            Petra picked up on the atmosphere of uncertainty

            ‘Oh should I go’ James held her close and Tammy pierced the tension balloon by explaining.

            ‘Don’t be silly, they have just been very naughty boys. They broke my new bed by fighting with each other. I ask you at their age’ they all laughed and as she looked across she could see the shocked amusement on Petra’s face. What must she think?  And as she looked closely over the pretty face with its bouncy glowing deep chestnut hair that was as glossy as the conker she picked up the other day and her face like silky caramel cream with it’s warm tones of joy at her youngest son. A true gift that made her happily and a motherly glow broke out around her.

            It was then she spied mike’s look. A deep fatherly inner warmth that was more appealing than youths first flourish of excitement in finding out about each other, it gravitated her to his magnetism as a man. When their eyes met they held a gaze of knowing each other, understanding that was their shared love. Then he looked at her, while she challenged him with her eyes. Now no one had ever mentioned to her the power of old love revived. He scanned her intently his eyes appreciating her every contour. A tension of deep unease spread through the youngsters watching and was broken by Josh.

            ‘You need to book a room dad!’ the tension was broken again by laughter.       They were busy getting ready to go and Tammy was pleasantly surprised that Petra was coming too. All three cars were loaded up with chairs and the last few boxes and such to take to Josh’s new home. Tammy had made an apple and hazelnut crumble cake and knew the boys; all three of them, had been nibbling away at the edges. She rolled her eyes, she had wanted it to look good but now it had nibberly bits missing as though mousse had been at it. She looked at her watch and began to panic.

            ‘Lord you’re going to be in for the chop my boy, look at the time!’

            ‘Naar she told me to go and never come back.’ Having got the shocked response from his mum he went on,

            ‘I was panicking a bit and she wanted me out of her kitchen.’ It was true love his face held all of the signs and captured it in a smile he held just for Sara.

            They arrived and duly took things up as they went. The flat was spacious enough to give them all room even with the table out. Sara had cleverly made a stew in two slow cookers and a buffet affair with dumplings baked in the oven, crisp on the outside fluffy on the inside all piled up looking tantalisingly scrumpious .

            After they had talked, eaten and thoroughly enjoyed each others company Sara and Josh stood together holding a magnum of Champaign.

            ‘We’ve an announcement to make;’ Josh strong determined voice so full of love proclaimed. ‘We’ve booked the wedding for New Years Eve’

            ‘Bloody Hell’ Tammy shocked voice let slip. ‘Next year?’

            ‘No this year’ Josh’s voice now a tad faltering.

            ‘I’m going to be a Mother-in-Law! Well bugger me!’ She was shocked but why was she so shocked? She felt old, strange and defiantly not ready for this!

A ripple of giggles went around with hand shakes, slaps on backs and kisses they passed Tammy a glass of Champaign which she downed it in one and they filled it up again.    Did you know about this?’ She looked over to Sara’s parents.  

Tammy's Queat for Romance 7

As josh ran into the house he was jovially shouting about his father’s underpants being on fire and where was it happening.

‘I’ve heard of burning your bra mum for women’s lib but your husband’s underpants now that has to be a first!’ Her sons laugh and smile was worth all the pain of childbirth and everything they had suffered in the last two years.

‘It was very liberating and I think your father felt so too.’

‘Calvin Keilns, nice! You’ve come into the millennium at last you old duffer.’

The thing about Mike that the family enjoyed the most was his sense of humour and fun, he was now impersonation a stripper. Totally comfortable with whom he was and his place in the world around him, made him irresistible to Tammy.

            His eyes danced around her face enchanting her even after all these years. It was a bit of a pity that his body had no rhythm what so ever spoiling the moment really. She smiled with that familiar fizzy pop sensation giving goosy bumps all over her. This was picked up instantly by Mike who started to shimmy over to her, focused with deep intent.

‘Watch and learn boys from a master’ Mike was now in full rotational movement and Tammy was backing off knowing if she got caught, fun and frolics would get out of hand. James had just come back into the room.

‘Woow old Grundy slow it down a pace or you’ll give yourself a pacemaker.’

‘This is how it’s done old timer’ Josh showed his moves.

‘Nar ya both hopeless look, like this!’ Now all three men where showing their moves non of which were aesthetically pleasing but good entertainment value so much so Tammy had to run away to calm herself down. Her face ached and lady’s of a certain age should not laugh too hard she thought to her self.

            She heard the kafuffle that signalled a boisterous wrestle fight between father and sons. Such antics should have been grown out of a long time ago; she knew it would end in tears. She decided to take the opportunity to have a shower.

Tilly on a Chicklit Soap Box

They imply (very brainy people of a certain age and income) that us plebs have boring lives and should try to read something more substantial. This makes me grumpy!!!!! Do not take chicklit from the shelves, do not call it anything else, I need to be able to run in, get my fix and run out again, quick, fast and efficient.  

            I know there is a big bad world out there and I care and some days I go looking for intellectual stimulation (perhaps they should have a shelf for that too) I don’t just read one type of book, who does? But so far this week I have had two friends having a tumour removed from their brains, one from their face, all three I send my love to, with big dollops of hugs and kisses. Two teenage children stressing over the meaning of life and what job they will be doing in a few years time, indeed if there are any they do not want to become a pleb like their mother and for that I do not blame them one jot! My youngest son, who is finding it hard to walk with a large growing marrow between his legs, is very very grouchy and who can blame him. Inland Revenue website keeps crashing as too many people are using it and the bank has charged us for services we don’t use and I can’t get anyone to understand me or me them. My dog has a lump that looks suspicious and is going in for op tomorrow. So don’t try taking my chicklit away from the shelves or belittle the joy it gives!!! I need soft romance to get through my day!!!! I know who I am and what I stand for and I'm proud of it!

            Anyhow no man can give romance like a good hunk in a chicklit book. I have a husband to put up the shelves but that’s all he is good for, alas he is a true Homo erectus which the romantic era passed by. I am a woman, I have my rights!!

Old man and his pup

The day my dad came to see the pups I knew and hoped

We took Rip, one of Tink’s pups, to my dads on Sunday to start his new life. One man and his dog stood there in that back garden and I must say it was like my dad had become whole again. In that moment I had given my dad back his past and at the same time his future. As a boy he would go hunting with his dog to feed his brothers and sisters, man and dog working together to bring back something for the pot. Dogs have been a big part of his life. We had a gentle golden retriever named Prince that was as regal as his name suggests who got my dad through my brother’s illness and suicide. But it was Rip, a tan and white Jack Russell that my dad named this little fella after.

            Rip was tenacious when needed but mostly laid back and a joy to be with. As a small girl he was my best friend, living in a small village of twenty seven houses he was my only friend. I was the original Billy No Mates by destination, if not personality. He saved me from at least two situations that I will be eternally grateful for.

            The first was a certain attack by a feral Alsatian. I wanted to help the dog, he looked worst for wear and needed a good feed but he didn’t trust me, I could see that. As he slinked his way over, with his ears pricked up and eyes fixed on me, Rip was having none of it and started to growl, as I turned to tell Rip to quieten down the dog lunged forward. Rip caught him and latched on to his gonads and would not let go despite the surprised and big dogs best efforts. With every tactic he used to get Rip off, came a fresh yelp. This continued until they were out of sight. I will never forget the cry of that poor dog as he ran with Rip still latched on, both of them jumping down the road, one in pain and the other trying to hold on for all he was worth. I still am astounded at the sight of it and the way Rip just would not let go even though it must have been painful for him. He could hardly reach the big dog’s soft undercarriage and had to bounce on his back legs to keep up.

            The second time was when I was on my own in the house and there was a knock on the back door. I lived in a line of six council houses in the middle of nowhere. No one I knew came to the back door and at first I thought it was one of my brothers larking about. But there was something in Rips stance that made me wary. I tucked Rip under my arm opened the door ready to give my brothers what for, when I looked to see who it was I stood paralysed to the spot. A strange man stood there. I can’t say why I was afraid of him but I was. The man rambled on about something, while he looked at me and I recoiled from him. Rip never took his eyes off the man’s throat; I could feel every muscle in that little dog tense up. The stare went from me to Rip, who was in prim position to jump on the man. Rip never showed his teeth and I couldn’t say he was snarling but there was a low rumble, deep and menacing. The man asked me quite pleasantly to put the dog down. When I refused he said he would tell my dad about that, with which I replied ‘That’s OK mister I’ll be telling him you called at the back door’. All of a fluster the man left.

            Now I have no idea if the man meant me any harm, we weren’t taking any chances in finding that out but the man never came back. From then on I used Rip as my people barometer and learnt to trust my instincts. I shudder when I look back on that day the possibilities are endless, none of which are pleasant.

            When ever one of our dogs died, our dad would find it hard to get over the loss. We would have to wait years before we had another enter our home. This time it took my dad a decade or more to contemplate it again, with reasons of time constraints a dog can place on you, then of course was his age, he is now seventy seven, was it faire to take on a dog when you are getting on in years. I always told him that that’s exactly when you needed a dog the most. They get you out and about keeping you active. A dog walker could come in, if it ever became a problem or we could get one of those mobility scooters Angus would love that. I would be there if he needed help.

            The pull of this puppy took him back into his past and gave him a positive look to the future, with his granddaughters encouraging him to take it on (poor man didn’t stand a chance once the girls had made up their minds).

        Dad has been thinking about the walks he will be able to take Rip on; there is nothing like daily walks for your emotional and physical constitution and the nature he would see, would mean that my dad would never stops learning, he has an inquisitive mind.  What with training the little dog, showing him off and having the comfort of his company, will keep his spirits youthful and his brain active but most of all the mischief. What the old boy and dog will get up to brings a broad smile on my face and warmth in my heart. My mum (not renowned for being a dog lover) is looking forward to it all too, mostly cuddles on the sofa, just hope he leaves their shirts intact the other Rip had a thing about buttons on shirts.

Wonder what they are up to?

            Will keep you posted.

No Bacon Rolls but is he still ready for GCSE's? Oh and I sacked Tink this morning.

We decided to give the bacon rolls a miss this morning, it was cinnamon cereal that he left and I felt a little deflated. Then I had to dismiss Tink from her duties, which made me grumpy. Dogs and children know how to make you feel really mean.

            Each morning I take Tink upstairs to wake Axl and Ella up, there is nothing like a cold wet nose to get you going in the morning and they don’t tend to tell her off like they would if it was me, not that I have a cold wet nose.

            This morning when she jumped on Axl’s bed she just lay down next to him and curled up. When I asked her what she thought she was doing and that he had to get up. She looked intently at me and that look spoke volumes, leave him alone he needs his rest! She told me off. I tried to encourage her to go under the covers to give him his usual licks but she wasn’t having any of it. I called her into Ella’s room but there was no way she was leaving Axl. So I went and did the dead myself, getting the normal response from my darling daughter, which consisted of a grunt and ‘Oh for heavens sake mum’.

            I carried on with my daily ritual thinking that just the presence of Tink would be enough to get my eldest out of bed. A while later I went to check on progress. Angus was dressed, had brushed his teeth and now was having breakfast, Ella was titivating and where was Axl? Yep you guessed it, curled up around Tink.

            Tink looked up as I walked in and gave me that motherly stare of, back off he needs time. I sacked her on the spot, was she bothered, bothered, she was not. Axl flung his protective arm around her. I had to go on waking duty myself and got the same response from my ever loving son that I got from darling daughter. Did I feel mean? You bet!

            Time is so sad, don’t you think? It can give us moments of pleasure but mostly we have to walk away from those moments when we least want to. If I had time, I would have taken a picture and stood there for a while smiling at the two of them, somehow, as a reward for being a mum. But Axl needs time in the morning to de-fluster his flusterble personality and I need reassurance he has everything and set for the day. Time is of a premium in the mornings with no margin for deviation. Yep time makes ya sad.

            Our family does not run like a well oiled machine, especially in the mornings. Ours is more a kin to a knackered out old thing that somehow rumbles along, totally inefficient but gets the job done somehow. I run from one break down to another fixing the beast as best as I can. I have been working on a time travel mechanism, hoping to incorporate it into our family machine but as yet have dismally failed. Though by writing this perhaps I have captured it a little and past some on to you.

            Have a great day x

I Stayed and We Played

Some Mothers can do endless feats

Their children delivered on time

Right place clean face

Oh no! Not me

Wrong venue at a different time

Their faces covered in chocolate

Oh Hell! Now we’re really late

I’ve tried to clean the house

The garden is a bit of a state

And the dinner not yet on the plate

And it’s half past eight!

Oh! Where have I gone wrong wrong?

A super mum I ain’t

But I stayed and we played

And what fun we made

So forgive me my son and daughter

For not doing as I oughta

But we played tag

And I caught ya

And gave you lots of

Hugs and kisses too

I think this much nicer than

Me being a super mum

Don’t you?

I wrote this many years ago before GCSE’s became a reality for us but I like to read it on flustered days like this one, to remind me of the real importance of life and how time fly's.

When I wrote the poem

 then and now

Breath through the pain of motherhood, soon there will be a smile x

We live for short moments x

Add some of your 'then and now' pics on my comments or e mail them to me. They will hate us for it, but hey whats new x

My How the pups have grown

The first two stages of a puppies life may appear to be non eventful at first the puppy flounders about a kin to a turtle on dry land, trying to suckle and then flopping into what appears to be a deep coma. Soon though, it starts to hold its head up and slowly the eyes open giving them a distorted view on their surroundings. In these four weeks the pups are confined to the den so their eyes need to be protected from light.

            But these four weeks are fascinating though, if you look closely at the bitch and the pups interaction. Intensely in-tune the bitch has an innate clock that I soon became part of. I got to know when she would want to rush outside and do the necessary and then get back to her pups. When she would need feeding and when she needed some well deserved fuss.

            Tink had this come see expression; even at the birth, she encouraged me to take part and never minded the children’s respectful presence. She would proudly look as we cooed and marvelled at the new arrivals. With every change her pups went through she would use that intense stare to encourage me to look closer at her offspring and take note. I came down one morning to that intent look and found that Amber’s eyes were open. We had to wait a further two days for Rips to slowly get bigger until they finally opened. Their little pug noses lengthened to reveal their muzzle as they grew into their faces. They sniffed us intently getting to know our sent.

            The next four weeks had them going from a tummy shuffle movement to walking slightly unsteady, curious but hesitant, to full on rumbles with each other and mum. Slowly they explored the ever widening world around them. Attacking feet with needle like teeth. Anything on the floor was fair game and squeaky toys a must have whether anyone else has it or not. Pouncing was being perfected and the very first tries ended up with the puppy on its back. I started to put liquidised food down for them increasing the lumps as I went, until I found them devouring their mother’s food. Tink sat there watching them ironically bemused by this event she then turned her gaze to me. Moving slowly over to the pups bowl she feeds silently on her own wondering why her pups don’t appreciate good food.

            Towards the end of the eighth week you can begin to get a good idea of their personalities, traits and how best to influence their training. It is worth remembering that every sound and object is unusual and quite freighting to them. In Rips case so are shadows, he learnt a good barking technique at shadows.

            I started to take the pups to school in the car right from the word go. Now this is not something I would recommend and in truth I didn’t like doing but Tink was insistent. She would run to the car and back again getting more and more agitated that I was not doing as I was told. From then on in we took the pups. I used a carrier crate to keep them safe and put a lot of bedding in to keep them warm.

            Training came into play at an early stage. At around five weeks, as they make their way towards me I clap my hands encouraging them and when they reach me I gave a lot of praise as they got older a treat was always waiting for them. When ever I took them out ‘to be clean’ as soon just as they achieved a wee or a number two I would reinforce with ‘clean boy/ clean girl’. Now as we trot out side I always call out ‘come be clean’.

            For meeting and greeting purposes I would put the pups in an old handbag to keep them warm and safe but they all too soon got too heavy so now I have adapted an old stroller so that I can tie the pups in and they can see Tink on her walks. I have also been walking them around the garden with their leads on and mum in front so they can see what to do. As with everything you do when teaching timing is always important, putting the lead on in a quiet and calm manner is never easy and very time consuming but it will pay you back in dividends later on when they just go through the ritual. Today I will be putting them in a harness in the car so they can sit with mum and taking them to school that way. I wonder what Tink will think to this and of course how will the pups cope. I will let you know